Colours of Love
by TheThirdReviewer
Summary: Drabbles of Hetalia pairings. One for each colour of the rainbow, and then some extra colours.
1. Red

**Pairing: **RusAme

Red. Communist. Bolshevik.

America wasn't yet ready to forget the Cold War. He was supposed to be the hero, wasn't he? Saving the world from Communism.

Not getting distracted by an, admittedly rather good-looking, Russian.

Honestly! Now even his own thoughts would betray him.

Were his thoughts even still his own? No, they, like his dreams, had been hijacked by Russia, filled with images of the other man's face, his silky silver hair, those beautiful violet eyes.

If only he wasn't Communist. If only he would even look twice at America. If only he wasn't sitting across from him at the G8 meeting right that second. If only someone hadn't said\something, America hadn't heard, but anyway, something that had made Russia smile, that gorgeous smile with just a hint of evil, and even a suspicion of sadness, a suspicion that made America want to comfort him…

But there was no point in hopeless wishes.

America had been so lost in his thoughts, he had failed to notice that the meeting had ended, that all of the other nations had left. Well, all except one…

Someone crept up behind him, wrapped their arms around his shoulders.

"_Amerika_?"

The American sighed, and, without turning around, leant back into the Russian's arms.


	2. Orange

**Pairing: **Spamano

"Spain! Tomatoes are _orange_! Not red! Not yellow! _Orange_! Get it?"

"Oh, but Romano, that's not true. Look at this one! It's not orange!"

A sulky Romano peered intently at the tomato held in the Spaniard's hand. To him, I was most definitely orange. Perhaps it had streaks of red, a dash of yellow… But still. It was mostly orange.

Besides, he was the tomato guy, not Spain.

How dare Spain turn up uninvited at his house and start arguing with him over the colour of tomatoes?

Well, was he really uninvited?

He claimed that Romano had extended an invitation, last week, when the two of them had been at a restaurant with several other countries.

But did invitations, any sort of invitations, _really _count when they had been offered during a game of Truth or Dare? No, they did not. Especially not when the darer was Hungary. She would do anything, absolutely anything, to get another couple together. Including ruin Romano's perfect, sunny, tomato-filled afternoon by adding Spain to it. He was really going to have to speak to her about this tendency to take over other people's social lives. It was getting extremely irritating. Why, only last week, she had just _happened _to run into Romano at the supermarket, and invite him to go for a coffee with her, at a nearby café. A café with a table that, supposedly just by accident, was already occupied by Spain.

Then again, perhaps Spain wasn't so bad. They could eat tomatoes together, after all. Tomatoes, which were _orange_.


	3. Yellow

**Pairing: **CuCan

Yellow. Yellow was the colour of the warm sunlight, falling softly on Canada's shoulders. Yellow was the colour of vanilla ice cream, sweet and cool on his lips. And yellow was the colour of Cuba's shirt, or parts of it.

Cuba sitting across from him at the table, giving all his concentration to his own ice cream cone, which was chocolate flavoured.

"Canada? Want a taste?"

"What? Oh, sure. You want some of mine?" Canada's flustered response was due to having been far too absorbed in his thoughts to notice that Cuba was actually talking to him.

Canada blushed as Cuba's hand brushed against the other boy's.

This moment was perfect. Ice cream, sunshine, warmth… and Cuba. Everything that made Canada happy.

Well, one thing was more essential than the others. Cuba. When Canada looked into his eyes, the rest of the world, no matter how idyllic, melted away. It was like drowning in a sea of warm brown. Canada could not look away.

_So beautiful… warm…safe… and he knows I'm not America… he's perfect. I only wish he knew the way I feel. But I can't tell him. Can I?_

"Cuba, I…"

"Want more ice cream? Sure thing!"

_That is not what I was going to say._

**AN: **Oh, Cuba. Poor clueless Commie.


	4. Green

**Pairing: **VietnamXNorthKorea

Green. Her forests were so green. A darker, deeper shade of green than her beautiful åo dai.

She was Vietnam. She was the Country of Peace and Quiet. She was perfect. Everything about her was exactly right. Her long dark hair, the crimson lotus tucked behind her ear, her graceful body encased in green cloth, her serious, melancholy expression, the way she could fight as well as any boy.

It was such a shame she always seemed to hide her true behind a mask of toughness. But not now, not while she slept.

She slept sprawled across her narrow bed, her hair unbound, spilling across the pillow in a shining wave, her sheets and blankets tousled around her.

She slept, and he watched her. He watched her, and his heart felt heavy with emotion. He was North Korea. He loved her.

Outside, the rain came down in sheets, lashing at the windows. The same rain that had prevented him from getting home after dinner, that kept him trapped here, watching that beautiful girl. Watching dreams flit across her face like sunlight chasing shadows. Hearing the room fill with the sound of her soft contented breathing. Watching her totally oblivious to his presence.


	5. Blue

Pairing: GerIta

Blue. All around Italy was blue. Blue sky. Blue sea.

Hot sun. Warm sand. Cold water.

The water was maybe too cold. Italy winced a little as it touched his toes, jumped back from the incoming wave. He skittered back onto the warm, safe sand.

It wasn't just the cold that bothered him. It was something he would never tell anybody, but he was afraid of water. He could never bring himself to go past knee depth. It simply wasn't safe. What if a big wave came? What if he was knocked off his feet, carried away into the deep water? He would drown for sure.

Once, as a child, he had loved the water. But it had all been ruined in the course of one day. One day, as children, they had been at the beach, swimming. Italy had been in the shallows, playing happily. Romano had been in much farther out, but standing on stable ground. He had called to his brother. "Come on, Feli, it's perfectly safe. Look at me; I'm standing, aren't I? It won't be over your head."

Italy had followed his advice, run out to meet him.

Then the wave came, knocking him off his feet, carrying him over a drop-off into a deep underwater hole. Now he remembered how the water had pinned him down, stopping him from coming to the surface, not even letting him get one breath.

He remembered Austria grabbing him out of the water, carrying him to the beach, the relief of being on solid land. Solid land that he would never leave again.

Now Germany, swimming further into the water, was calling out to him.

"Come on, Italy, it really isn't that cold."

"No, Germany, I can't."

"Why not?"

"Just because I can't."  
>"Are you afraid of the water?"<p>

No answer, but his expression must have answered for him, because Germany came wading over to him.

"No need to be afraid. Come with me."

Italy had no time to protest. Germany snatched him off his feet and carried him out into the deep water.

Water lapped around their chests. Italy squealed. He couldn't see the bottom.

"Don't look to se how deep the water is, look at me."

Hesitantly, Italy followed his advice, gazing up into his friend's face.

There was something else that was blue. Germany's eyes.


	6. Purple

**Pairing: **FrUK

Purple. A purple rose. Where had France managed to find such a thing?

"It's beautiful."

"Thank you, Angleterre. Purple roses mean love at first sight, or so they say."

England blushed.

"Really?"

"I believe so."

England reached for the rose that was held out to him. "Is that what you really think about us?"

"But of course. I remember when we first met."  
>"We were only children then!"<br>"Yes, but you were already so beautiful."


	7. Pink

**Pairing:** LietPol

Pink. Such a pretty colour. Definitely Poland's favourite colour. The colour of his favourite shirt, which he was wearing right now. The colour of Lithuania's cheeks, now that he was blushing in a slightly embarrassed way. For no reason that Poland could figure out.

But also the colour of Belarus' hair-ribbon. The colour of her lips. Those lips, that seemed to have Lithuania transfixed.

Belarus. What did that girl have, that Lithuania found so attractive? Why did he look so happy, speaking to her? Why couldn't it be Poland that made him smile like that? He wished Belarus would just disappear. Leave, and never return. Leave his Lithuania alone.

Their conversation was finished. Lithuania stood up, moved over to where Poland was sitting.

"Hey, Poland, what's the matter? Are you _crying_?"

He was. He hadn't noticed, but he was. Sobbing as he looked into Lithuania's eyes. Crying for what he could never have.

"Stop crying! There's nothing to cry _about_!"

"Yes, there, like, is."  
>"What is it, then?"<p>

"You. I am crying because of you."

"What have I done to make you cry?"  
>"Fallen in love with Belarus!"<br>"_What? _I am _not _in love with her! We were just having a conversation! I am in love with someone else!"

Poland felt his heart break all over again. Another rival, one he had not anticipated.

"Who, then?"

"You."


	8. White

**Pairing: **AusHun

White. White was the colour of clean sheets on a bed. Austria was drowning in the sheets on his bed. Drowning in cloth, burning with fever.

Water. Cold against hot lips.

Cool hands on his forehead. Hungary's cool hands. Relief.

Her soft voice. So soothing.

She was here, just when he needed her. She would always be here when he needed her. She would never leave him. She was constant. Loyal.

In sickness and in health. Isn't that what the marriage vows said? Yes, she took that part seriously. She would look after him.

Not that she thought he needed much looking after. She said it was just the flu. That he wasn't '_all that_ sick'. Well, if so, he would hate to know what being '_all that_ sick' felt like. This was bad enough.

Bad enough that Hungary had banned him from getting out of bed. Bad enough that he was deprived of his piano playing until his fever went down. She said it was for his own good. He was forced, just this once, to submit to her. But only because he was too tired to argue.

Hungary was gone now. He heard her footsteps down the hall. He heard her humming to herself. Humming _Aki nem lép egyszerre_. One of her favourite songs. He smiled at the familiar tune.

**AN: **_Aki nem lép egyszerre _is a Hungarian children's song. The title translates as _those who can't walk in step._


	9. Black

**Pairing: **Giripan

Black. The night was so black, the dream still close and choking. Japan struggled to free himself from its clutches, shaking and sweating in fright.

Horror. The horror that he would never free himself from. The horror of fire. Of burning. His people, burning. His cities, crumbling. Fire taking everything. Leaving only black. Black, burnt bones, stones, ruins and ashes.

The black that had settled over his eyes then was the same black that surrounded him now, as he lay in bed, so far from that place.

The same hot darkness.

He gasped, reached for the figure lying beside him. "Greece-san, are you awake?" The other man slept soundly, untroubled by nightmares. "Greece-san, please wake up!"

The Greek stirred. "Japan? Go back to sleep. It's four in the morning."

"I can't."

"Why not?"  
>"Bad dream."<p>

Greece turned to Japan, wrapped his arms around him. "It's okay. Don't be scared. You have nothing to be scared_ of_."

Japan cringed against his chest. Greece found himself stroking his hair, longing for him to be happy again. "Be still, my darling. That dream is gone. It won't come back."

Japan lay in his arms, his body warm and heavy. Greece sighed. That dream had left him hurt and frightened.

But there was one consolation. The Japanese man would never let himself be held like this in daytime.

**AN: **So, that is the last of these drabbles. I now have time to do requests, if anyone wants me to. Hetalia themed, please. I can do multi-chapter.


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